


Gods and Monsters

by TheTimeWeaver



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Abusive John Winchester, Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt and comfort, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester's Bad Parenting, M/M, Romance, Stripper AU, Stripper Castiel, Supernatural - Freeform, coffeehouse AU, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-04 23:12:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1796812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTimeWeaver/pseuds/TheTimeWeaver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>19 year old Dean Winchester has never been good with the truth. At least, not when it comes to his family.  After he gets booted from college in the middle of his freshman year, Dean would rather turn to the streets than face his father. However, a chance meeting in a coffee shop in Chicago changes everything.<br/>He finds himself opening up to the mysterious boy with blue eyes, learning more about himself in the process. However, Castiel seems to be hiding something from him - going out every night when he thinks Dean is sleeping, and reappearing disheveled each morning. Will Dean's curiosity get the better of him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Work beta-d and edited by the fabulous Isla; aka dark_renegade_angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean heard the bathroom door creak open, and listened to Cas’s slow and steady breaths. He felt the man's eyes on him, running over his body through the distorted glass of the shower door. He shivered, his body tingling and highly alert as he waited for Cas's eyes to move on. He listened to the sound of scribbling on the table and heard Cas take another deep breath, before closing the door behind him again.

Every day seemed ordinary to Castiel Novak since he'd moved to Chicago. He had a job in a coffee shop called _Ground from Grace_ . Each night, he ground the coffee beans and swept up the small café to stay on his feet. Every cent of his weekly paycheck went into renting the apartment situated directly above. It was never very busy; the visitors were mostly men in business coats stopping in for the free Wi-Fi and a cup of the daily special or a bagel. They would sit a good distance away from one another, carrying on their own private meetings. The sounds of tapping shoes and clicking keys would echo inside, everyone sipping slowly at their skim mochas as soft music played in the background. Castiel had to admit that it was dull, but it was the _consistency_ that he loved. No surprises, no conflict. Just quiet, everyday people. Sure, his landlord was a jackass. His pay sucked, the heat didn't work in the apartment, and he was usually hungry. But it was home for him, and that meant he belonged somewhere, which was what he needed.

Dean Winchester was looking for somewhere to belong as well. He’d never really belonged - not at home with his dad, not in college, not with his ex-girlfriend, Lisa. That's what brought him into the _Ground from Grace_ coffee shop that Thursday afternoon. The place was practically empty, apart from a few older couples and some hoity-toity businessmen in full-on douche apparel. He stepped up to the counter, his thumb pushing itself into the front pocket of his jeans.

"Hey, can I speak to the manager?" Dean asked the back of a man he assumed was an employee. A young face with blue eyes and dark hair turned to face him.

"Yeah,” he replied, “give me a moment."

Dean was shocked by the gravelly voice Blue Eyes possessed. It seemed odd and out of place, yet it fit him, as did the deep bags under his tired eyes. The boy’s fingers beat out the rhythm of something with a much faster pace than whatever was playing in the background. Dean was too busy studying Blue Eyes to realize that a larger man with thinning hair had stepped out from the back.

"Yes?" he asked, clearly annoyed.

Dean retracted a bit, trying to make himself seem appropriate for a place so calm and quiet. It was pretty far out of his comfort zone. Maybe even _ver_ y far out of it... but he really needed a job and would take anything for the time being.

"What do you need?" The manager asked impatiently. His face seemed kind, but his voice was sharp, crisp, and angry. Dean's eyes searched for a nametag, but swiveled back to the man’s face empty-handed.

"I came in to ask about a job,” he explained. “I noticed the sign on the door a few days ago? I tried calling, left a couple of voicemails." Dean tried to make his voice sound gentle, even though he knew that he was often mistaken for being - as his father put it, 'a cocky know-it-all' who really _didn'_ _t_ know all that much.

"I received no such thing,” was the manager’s unyielding reply. Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat and tried to stay calm. "Oh, uhh... I don’t know why that might’ve… that's why I came in today, Mister, uh..." _Damn it_. This was already falling flat. Dean was convinced he was making a complete fool of himself. Who was he kidding? He wasn't going to get the job at this shitty café. Even the Laundromat had kicked him out earlier for 'loitering'. He hadn’t known that standing inside and out of the rain was a crime.

"Just call me Zachariah,” the manager said, tipping his head towards the back of the counter. “Broom's over there. Get started." Dean stood there for a moment processing, trying to think of something to say.

"Any time now, princess,” Zachariah reiterated pointedly.

"Oh, thank you sir, I'll-" Dean’s response was cut off as he noticed Blue Eyes coming back into the shop. Zachariah noticed him too. "Castiel, I want you to teach him the ropes,” he said, warning “Fuck this up, and you’ll be out on the streets again." Blue Eyes nodded silently at his boss and moved quickly behind the counter. Dean found himself already hating this Zachariah; he seemed like a sadistic creep.

After three days of working at _Ground from Grace_ , Dean still knew next to nothing about his blue-eyed colleague. He knew his name was Castiel, that he'd been working at the shop about three months, and that he always stayed late (well, that was what Dean assumed, since whenever he left at seven Castiel was always still there). After three days of working in silence, Dean had had enough.

"Hey, Castiel,” he began, pausing to check, “Did I say that right? Cas-tee-ellll?" He smiled as the other boy looked up at him in surprise, like he wasn't used to being acknowledged. "Yes, that is how you say my name,” he replied. ”Not quite as much emphasis, though. It's simply ‘Castiel’. Nothing special," he muttered, going back to packing everything up. Dean frowned at his lack of enthusiasm.

"Not with a name like that. _Castiel_ ,” he repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue. “That sounds like the name of a king or some shit. You can't just stand there and tell me that's nothing special." Dean grinned at Castiel’s bewildered expression. "It sounds pretty special to me," Dean insisted, throwing Cas a wink as he went back to work.

Castiel continued clearing up, but a small smile crept its way onto his face. He liked the way Dean looked at him. It made him feel like he was someone; someone who mattered.

Things went on the same for another week without any substantial conversation between the two, other than the occasional grumble about Zachariah. Castiel would occasionally ask Dean about his life, and what he was doing working at the coffee shop, but Dean would always change the subject. Castiel was intrigued by him; by the amulet around his neck, the scars that littered his skin, and the bruises that kept reappearing on him. But whenever he asked, Dean would brush him off.

"Hey Cas, c'mere for a second," Dean called as they were cleaning up one evening. "Why do you stay here so late every night?" Castiel smiled up at him in delight.

“My mother used to call me Cas when I was little,” he reminisced. “I like hearing it again.” Dean returned his smile, and then nodded as though he expected him to keep talking. "Oh!” Cas remembered, shaking his head. ”I live here - just upstairs. Zachariah lets me rent the loft above the shop," he explained, initially a little confused as to why Dean cared about his working hours. But then he realized. He had been noticing small things that Dean would say or do whenever a topic mentioning anything to do with home was brought up. Dean would immediately change the subject, forcing an 'I've not a care in the world' expression onto his face. It all made sense now.

"Oh, really? That's pretty cool."

Cas remained silent, choosing his words carefully before he spoke. The last thing he wanted was to offend Dean.

"I don't, um... I don't know your living situation, Dean," he started tentatively, “but I wanted to say that if you need somewhere to stay - you know, a roof over your head? Well, I live right upstairs-" Cas hoped his suspicions were right so he didn't embarrass himself. “- and, and you’re welcome to stay with me.”

"Thanks Cas, but I’m fine - I've got this great place on the other side of town," Dean said quickly, lying through his teeth. Cas raised an eyebrow, knowing immediately that he wasn't telling the truth. “Really, man, it’s fine,” Dean maintained.

"Dean," Cas said, tone final, making Dean stop in his tracks. The way Cas had said his name sent chills down his spine. His voice was so rough, but behind that Dean could feel the kindness it held.

"... Okay."

Dean had no idea where that had come from. He never asked for help; that was just how he was raised. He wasn't supposed to need help from others. He could take care of himself - and if he couldn't, he alone would have to deal with the consequences.

"What do you mean, ‘okay’?" Cas was once again confused.

"I mean, if it's okay with you... then I’ll stay,” Dean said cautiously. Cas’s answering smile was dazzling. “But not permanently,” Dean clarified, “ maybe just a day or two while I get back on my feet.”

"Of course it's okay, Dean. You can stay as long as you like." Dean smiled back, trying to ignore the feelings of shame that rising inside him.He was grateful to Castiel, but he just wasn't used to accepting charity. He could picture his dad already, telling him what a burden he was. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, and got back to work.

After Zachariah left, they finished cleaning the shop, locked up, and headed upstairs. Cas unlocked the door at the top of the stairs, holding it open for Dean. "Well, this is home. It's not much, but it's what I have," Cas announced, realizing what a mess he'd left it in. "Do you need to go out and grab any of your things?"

Dean motioned to himself, shaking his head. "This is everything I have, right here."

Cas felt a pang of guilt for not offering Dean a place to stay sooner. Dean noticed the look in his eyes, and smiled gently. "Really Cas, it's okay."

"Alright Dean,” Cas said reluctantly. “Well, I'm going to set up the couch for you. Is that okay?"

"That'd be fantastic. Would you mind if I showered?" Dean asked, noticing the bathroom in the corner of the room.

"Go for it; just let me know if you need anything."

Cas was glad to have company; someone to talk to. He was tired of being alone all the time.

Dean went into the bathroom, and after Cas heard the shower turn on, he started cleaning up. He brought one of his pillows out, put it on the couch, and left two afghans hanging over the side of it. He slipped open the bathroom door and placed a towel on the sink, then grabbed a pen and scrawled a note on the back of a grocery list.

_Went to bed. Food and beer in the fridge - feel free to help yourself. Also, jiggle the handle on the toilet after flushing, stupid thing will just keep running if you don't._

_Sleep well._

He left it on top of the towel before heading to his room and crawling into bed. He hoped that Dean would feel welcome in his home. Cas knew how important it was, especially to someone like Dean. He could tell from the way the other man held himself that he liked to be perceived as strong and tough, but Castiel watched Dean closely when he didn't know anyone was looking. He noticed the look in his eyes. Dean was scared, and Cas was going to do anything he could to help him.

Dean heard the bathroom door creak open, and listened to Cas’s slow and steady breaths. He felt the man's eyes on him, running over his body through the distorted glass of the shower door. He shivered, his body tingling and highly alert as he waited for Cas's eyes to move on. He listened to the sound of scribbling on the table and heard Cas take another deep breath, before closing the door behind him again.

Dean let out a sigh, only just realizing he’d been holding his breath. He turned off the water and just stood there for a moment, his hair slick against his forehead and water running down his body in little rivets until he was somewhat dry.

He stepped out of the small shower and noticed the towel on the sink. He grabbed it and dried off slowly, watching his movements in the foggy mirror. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced than usual, and the bruises on his body stood out more in the florescent lighting of the bathroom. Dean winced as he remembered the fight he’d gotten into the previous night at the bar. He’d bet his weeks’ pay for a pool game, claiming he'd never really played before. When he’d beaten the guys, they'd decided to beat the shit out of him, collect their money, and take the little that he had as well.

Dean's rough hands pulled on his boxers and T-shirt, and he grabbed the rest of his clothes and headed out into the main area of the small apartment. He read over the note Cas left him, and smiled at the notion of beer. He sat on the couch, beer in hand, and decided that maybe accepting a little charity wasn't such a bad thing after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas's cheeks were still red and warm, and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm himself down. However, he knew it wouldn't be that simple. It had become apparent that he was falling for Dean Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is beta-d by the fantastic Isla - aka dark_renegade_angel

Dean didn't remember the last time he'd had a good night's sleep. His recent favorite had been the bench underneath the awning at the grocery store, but he’d quickly became too ashamed when he ran into someone that he used to know in school. He was thankful that he had left before a real conversation had started. He may have been able to pull off the ‘I was so drunk last night I don’t remember this’ talk, but he was just as insecure as others when it came to failure. His father had trained him that way.

Anxiety filled Dean as his thoughts raced to his dad, and his chest tightened. He knew it was inevitable that John would discover what had happened - Dean had been removed from the school. Too many parties, too little effort put into his actual school work. He’d failed his first marking period, and since he didn't do much to improve for the second one, he was dropped. He’d been given a week to move off campus, and since then it had just been him. Well, until now.

He decided that he owed Cas big time for letting him stay, and needed some way to repay him, at least in part.

Cas woke up that morning to the smell of coffee and eggs, and Metallica playing on the small radio outside his room. He threw on a pair of jeans and ventured outside.

"Morning, Blue Eyes," Dean greeted him with a warm smile. "Eggs, coffee, some decent tunes. Looked like you could use a pick me up." He slapped Cas on the back, humming along to the music.

"Dean, where'd you get the eggs..?" Cas asked, well aware that his fridge consisted primarily of beer, apple juice, and milk for cereal.

“Well, in case you haven't noticed, Cas, you live directly above a coffee shop with a fully stocked fridge," Dean answered, piling eggs onto a plate. Cas's stomach growled audibly. "Hmm, that's what I thought. Now eat up." Dean winked at him, and sat down across at the small table next to the window. Cas sat down opposite him begrudgingly. He couldn't help it; he hadn't had a warm breakfast since he'd moved into the place.

"Dean, we really shouldn't take food from downstairs.  I could get kicked out, and I don't have enough money to live anywhere else," Cas said, looking down at his plate guiltily.

"C'mon Cas, it'll be fine. It was just two eggs, and one pot of yesterday's coffee that I heated up on the stove, okay?” Dean assured him. “Not a big deal. I just figured that you could use some actual food; you look like you're starving all the time. I mean, yeah, you got a roof over your head, but with the pay we get here, you can only be scraping by. Let me help you." Dean smiled, and kept eating. Cas's shoulders relaxed a little bit, and he hesitantly took a bite of the eggs. “Mmm, damn these taste good," he mumbled in between bites. But then, his face fell, becoming serious again. "Dean, if this is your way of trying to pay me back for letting you stay here, you really don't need to." He paused to swallow his food. "It's a favor. You aren't in any way indebted to me."

"Yeah, the food is pretty damn good. You like your coffee black? I hope so, because I didn't nab any sugar." Dean babbled, already done with his eggs. He was good at changing the subject. Before Cas had a chance to interject, Dean was on his feet, cleaning up the dishes. At this point, Cas realized that Dean was only wearing a T-shirt and boxers, and looked really - and he meant _ really _ \- good. As he leaned over the sink, his shirt pulled up revealing his lower back. His legs were toned and his arms, although bruised, were strong-looking and attached to broad shoulders. His body was so beautiful and gracefully built, that Cas couldn't keep his eyes off him.

"Hello? Earth to Cas?" Dean waved a hand in front of his face, trying to get his attention. Cas snapped his head up, blushing slightly.

"Oh, gosh, sorry - I just zoned right out," he apologized, trying to cover his tracks. He looked down and kept eating, missing the smile that crept onto Dean's face as he looked at Cas. Of course, Dean knew that Cas’s eyes had been trailing over his body - but he sure as hell wasn’t going to call him out on it. Dean could get used to this - making breakfast, early morning flirting, and having somebody to talk to for a change. Cas was so genuine - something that Dean had never really been exposed to in a person.

"So, are you going to tell me why you were on the streets?" Cas inquired, meeting Dean's eyes with his own big blue ones.

"Man, it's a long story," Dean warned him, chuckling.

"Well, I've got my whole life. I'm sure I can squeeze you in somewhere," Cas insisted with a sly smile, shifting in his chair to indicate that he wasn't going anywhere. Dean sighed, and sat back down across from him. "Man, you're a nosy bastard," he teased.

"I'm waiting." Cas smiled mischievously at him, pointing towards his ear. 

"Alright, so this has been my first year in college, right?” Dean began. ”My girlfriend at the time and I had an apartment together near campus. She was studying social work, and I was studying mechanical engineering, just like my dad wanted me to." Dean smiled, but Cas could see the hurt in his expression, and feel it in his voice.

"Well, why aren't you there now?" Cas inquired gently.

“Okay, well, things went really well at first. I mean, I was going to class and doing all my work, but after a couple of weeks... I realized why Lisa was never there. She was sleeping around…her and her friends had a running bet about how many guys they could each bang in the first month of school. Y’know, I tried talking to her about it, but she just kicked me out. A friend of mine, well, a ‘friend,’ let me bunk with him. But one party led to another and next thing I knew, I was booted outta there too.” Dean mumbled at the end, trying and failing to hide his feelings on the matter from Cas.

“Dean, may I ask why you didn’t just go home to your family?” The moment the word ‘family’ left his mouth Cas regretted it, as he noticed Dean’s expression shift, shutting down entirely. “Okay, story time’s over.” 

“Dean,” Cas began pleadingly “I’m…”

“Don’t, man,” Dean said, cutting him off. “Just don’t. I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Nothin’ personal.” He got up to put the dishes in the sink. Cas made a mental note not to bring up family again. 

The next few weeks went by quickly, and Dean and Cas grew closer by the day. 

One night, however, when Dean was working late, Zachariah showed up, drunk as hell. Normally that would've been okay, Dean could handle a lone drunken idiot, but Zachariah caught sight of Dean with a pot of coffee and some food, headed upstairs. Cas heard the yelling from the apartment, and ran down just as Zachariah was going after Dean with a broken glass coffee pot.

"I really don't understand why you keep fucking stealing!" Cas growled frustratedly as he and Dean climbed back up the stairs to the apartment, Dean's hand bleeding from shielded his face from the glass.

"Let’s just fix up my hand, okay?" Dean said through gritted teeth.

"Okay okay, give me a second," Cas mumbled as he unlocked the front door and went into the bathroom for the first aid kit. Cas didn't remember the last time he’d seen Zachariah so drunk, or Dean being so  _ goddamn _ stupid. He returned with the kit and set it down on the couch beside Dean.

"Okay, let me see." Dean obeyed, opening his palm gingerly. Cas couldn't see much through the blood, but the cut was definitely deep. He brought out a bottle of peroxide and looked at Dean to reassure him before carefully pouring it over the wound. Dean sat still and silent, watching as Cas tended to the gash in his palm. Cas was as gentle as he could possibly be, wincing each time he poured the peroxide onto Dean's hand, not wanting to hurt him. His long fingers moved gracefully over Dean's, wrapping the bandage tightly.  When he was finished, he let Dean's hand rest between the two of his for a minute, not able to will himself to pull away.

After a few moments, Dean became aware of the warmth surrounding his hand, and the soft touch of Cas's fingertips tracing his thumb and running over the top of the bandage. He pulled his hand back quickly, wincing as the movement pulled at the gauze.

"I’m sorry." 

Cas stood up quickly, cheeks flushed. He rubbed at the back of his head in a weak attempt to play off the situation, making Dean smile. "Don't be, it's fine,” he assured him, patting Cas on the shoulder before heading to the bathroom. Cas's cheeks were still red and warm, and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm himself down. However, he knew it wouldn't be that simple. It had become apparent that he was falling for Dean Winchester.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He walked into his bedroom and smiled at the sight before him; Cas was wrapped in his blanket, hair messy and face pressed into the soft skin of his inner elbow. The afternoon sun was peeking through the curtains, and reflected on the headboard above Cas’s hair, giving him the appearance of having a halo. Dean smiled at the thought; because that man would make the perfect angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work beta-d by the amazing Isla, aka dark_renegade_angel

Dean pressed his back against the bathroom door, suppressing a grin. His hand tingled - not because of the wound on his palm - but due to how Cas’s fingers had traced his calloused skin with such gentle reverence, leaving his stomach in knots. Dean wasn’t gay - he knew he couldn’t be. His father had made sure of that when he’d caught Dean with one of the school football players at a party when he was seventeen.

They’d been playing gay chicken, which was secretly Dean’s favorite game... The goal was to get as intimate as possible with a member of the same sex without backing away; the first one to retreat lost and usually had to go through with some god-awful dare from the rest of the guys. However, Dean was undefeated. The game was really just an excuse for him to be felt up by another guy - even if the attention wasn’t real, it was as close as Dean had ever gotten to being with another boy without having being labeled “gay”. But one Friday night at Meg Master’s parent’s cabin, Dean had a little too much to drink, and so had the head football player. ‘Gay chicken’ lead to ‘seven minutes in heaven’, and after a few more shots of whiskey, Dean had found himself in the guest room with Rick on top of him, their bodies tangled together in a sweaty mess. He still couldn’t recall much, but once his dad arrived, Dean was as good as dead. Sure, his dad had probably had reason to be upset; finding his son with the head football player balls-deep inside him wasn’t exactly a pleasant surprise.  But his father’s hatred and disgust weren’t the only things Dean received from the incident. He still had the scars on his back to show for it – the lashes from his father’s belt had left their mark on his skin as well as his mind. Dean gulped, swallowing down the memories. He hadn’t stepped out of line since, but his father still hadn’t let him live that night down.

Cas was cleaning up the first aid kit when he caught sight of the time on the clock.

** 11:25 **

Shit. Gabriel was going to _ kill _ him. He glanced up at the bathroom door, noting that Dean was still inside, before scrawling a note on an envelope.

_ Went out - needed some fresh air. Rest up, and stay the fuck out of trouble. _

_ \- Castiel _

Cas usually timed his shifts at the club so that Dean was asleep by the time he left, but he couldn’t be late and risk getting in trouble with the boss (who also happened to be his brother). He grabbed his bag and left, shutting the door behind him as quietly as he could. He sighed as he walked down the street towards the club where he worked - _Gods and Monsters._

As he pushed open the doors and walked down the steps the music got increasingly louder. As Cas reached the entrance he could feel the bass reverberating in his chest.

“Hey, Cassie! I see you made it. Good, good,” cooed Gabriel, his annoying stepbrother. “You’re pushing it a little close, eh?” He asked rhetorically with a wink, before motioning to his watch. “Chop chop. You go on in ten, angel.”

Cas glued his eyes to the floor as he walked through the club, letting out a breath of relief as he shut the dressing room door behind him. He shrugged off his jacket and removed his white t-shirt, stretching his arms over his head. He glanced at the tattoos on his back as he finished stripping down, and then climbed into his outfit for the night. He couldn’t even imagine if Dean knew that he worked part time at a strip club. It was humiliating enough for him whenever he saw the face of someone he knew, but the thought of the disgust Dean could have for him if he knew – it made him feel sick. He held Dean’s opinions in high esteem. It wasn’t even that Castiel disliked his job. In fact, he really enjoyed it. Although he outwardly put on the appearance of innocence, there was nothing he enjoyed more than being in control of other people’s pleasure. When he was on stage _ , he _ was in charge. He could see the hungry looks in the audience’s eyes. The lustful stares and curious expressions… the way people grabbed for him whenever he did a private dance, wishing they could touch him but knowing that they couldn’t... _ that  _ was what Cas loved. The unattainability that he held for them. The temptation.

Cas took a deep breath, smiling at himself in the lighted mirror as he did his hair and, hastily, his makeup. He gave his outfit a final once-over before heading back into the club, ready to do what he did best.

Dean finished up in the bathroom. He walked out and noticed the silence of the apartment. He headed into the kitchen and sighed when he saw the note. Cas was off doing god knows what, again. Dean was catching on to him. He’d noticed the absence of snoring on the nights that Cas would leave. Usually it would be past midnight, when Cas would get up and leave without a word, taking a gym bag with him. Dean was suspicious about where he went, but he also didn’t want to be nosy. He decided that tonight wasn’t the night to follow Cas out and see where he went. He didn’t really have the energy to, anyway. His hand still hurt, he had a massive headache, and he needed a beer desperately. But the more he drank, the more he thought about Cas.

He worried about him. He cared about Cas, no matter how much he didn’t want to admit that to himself. Every time he saw the level of depth and kindness behind his blue eyes, or listened to the warmth of his gravelly voice, he felt like he was floating. He wanted to be wrapped up in that voice and in that scent. He wanted to be enveloped in Cas’s kindness. Dean had no exact explanation for his attraction to Castiel, but whatever it was, it was insanely potent. Dean pushed the feelings away repeatedly – because that was what he was brought up to do. Wasn’t it?

Dean sighed as he opened his fourth beer. It was going to be a long night.

When Cas got in early the next morning, he saw Dean passed out on the sofa, five empty beer bottles littering the coffee table before him. He stepped forward to pull a blanket onto his chest, and blushed feverously when he saw the dampness on the front of Dean’s boxers, which Dean’s hand was down. Cas covered his mouth to stifle a giggle, and pulled up the blanket with his free hand. He slowly crept to his bedroom, being careful not to disturb Dean. He stripped off his clothes and sighed, before falling into the comfort of his bed. His muscles ached from the long night of dancing, and Cas was ready for a good morning’s sleep.

When Dean woke up, the first thing that he noticed was the headache. The second thing he noticed was the moisture in his boxers. “Fuck...” he muttered, reaching for the back of his neck and massaging the pads of his fingers into the muscles. With the other still bandaged hand, he slipped off his boxers and reached under the couch for the pair of pajama bottoms that Cas had lent him. He let go of his neck and moaned slightly, cursing himself for not drinking more water with his beer the previous night, before getting up and yanking on the pants. He was grumpy as hell, but the familiar sound of snoring that traveled through the small apartment made him smile – Cas was home.

He walked into the bedroom and smiled at the sight before him; Cas was wrapped up in his blanket, hair messy and face pressed into the soft skin of his inner elbow. The afternoon sun was peeking through the curtains, and reflected off the headboard just above Cas’s hair, giving the appearance of a halo around his head. Dean smiled to himself at the thought, thinking _ Cas really would make the perfect angel. _

He glanced over at him one more time before walking out and shutting the door behind him. “Breakfast…” he mumbled to himself, looking in the fridge for food. There wasn’t much to work with. Leftover mac n cheese from two days ago, a package of Kraft American cheese, and another beer were all that stared back at him. He sighed, contemplating going downstairs to get some food before scolding himself, remembering what had happened the last night. He smiled, and went to wake Cas; deciding to treat him to breakfast at the pub down the street.

He walked back into the bedroom, smiling from ear to ear.

“Castiel, wakey wakey,” Dean sang in a high pitched voice, grinning as Cas groaned and rolled over in bed, revealing the winged tattoos that ran down part of his back. The black ink shone brilliantly with the sunlight hitting it. The thought of Cas as an angel popped back into Dean’s mind.

“Dean, what do you want…?” Cas whined into his pillow, grumbling about being woken up.

“Well, Cas - number one, it’s 11 o’clock and the sun is out, so it’s time to get up. Number two - I’m taking you to breakfast, and number three - when the _ fuck _ were you going to tell me about your badass tattoos?” Dean chuckled warmly, snatching the pillow from beneath Cas’s head.

“One - fuck you. Two - fine, thank you. And three - they’re nothing special, okay?” Cas started getting up slowly. Dean noticed the hickey on Cas’s collarbone as he stretched, and he felt his heart sink. 

Cas was with someone.

“Just get up and let’s go, alright?” he said sharply before walking back out. Cas noticed the change in his tone and wondered for a moment if he had somehow angered Dean. He shrugged it off, throwing on a cardigan and a pair of skinny jeans. He noticed the bruise on his neck as he fixed his hair, and –  _ oh. _ That was why Dean was upset. Cas started thinking of ways he could explain away the hickey - without mentioning that it was the result of a customer getting a little too handsy with him the previous night. He sighed, coming up with nothing. Plus, Cas was easily the shittiest liar in Chicago; he knew he’d never get away with a lie. He decided to ignore it, and see if Dean could, too.

The walk to  _ Lucie’s _ pub was quiet, other than Dean accidentally running into another guy on the sidewalk, knocking his injured hand. Once they got to the restaurant, Cas tried to start a conversation.

“So… how did you sleep?” he started, hoping that Dean wasn’t upset with him.

“Oh, I slept alright,” Dean lied flatly, his eyes focused on the large glass of water before him. “How about you, Cas? Was your night - fun?” he asked, his voice sharpening.

“No… not exactly.”

“Oh, okay,” Dean replied, still not making eye contact. He knew it was foolish of him to be so upset, but he was screaming internally. Because _ someone else _ had marked Cas – and Cas hadn’t told him about it. He was having some kind of secret relationship that he didn’t even talk to Dean about. He wished he had known that sooner, _ before _ he’d jerked off fantasizing about having Cas feverishly pressed against him, and his lips leaving marks like that on Cas’s neck. He shook himself, coming back to reality, and glanced up at Cas, noticing the discomfort on his face. Dean’s stomach dropped and he immediately felt guilty about taking his feelings out on Cas.

“Look, Cas, I’m sorry. I just have the shittiest hangover and I feel god awful this morning,” he apologized sincerely, looking up into Cas’s deep blue eyes, searching for the comfort that lay behind them. Cas reached over and put his hand on Dean’s for the briefest of moments, before pulling it back away. “I understand,” he said, giving Dean a small smile as their food arrived.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Russian Roulette played on in the background, its haunting melody accenting the movements of Cas’s body perfectly. His right leg looped elegantly around the pole, catching it in the crook of his inner knee. He lifted himself up off the ground and spun himself on the pole in one swift movement. His eyes were shut tight - that he was concentrating hard on his every move was apparent, but not obvious. His movements were smooth and natural, never forced. He leaned back, letting go of the pole with his hands as he spun, before lowering himself slowly back to the ground. He dropped to the floor, thrusting his pelvis down towards the ground, looking up and straight ahead with fire in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been beta-d by the wonderful Isla, aka dark_renegade_angel

Dean wasn't sure how, but when he was with Cas, time just flew by. The thought of Cas being with someone else quickly slipped out of his mind over the weeks, and Dean warmed right back up to him. He was still suspicious, but he figured Cas would tell him about the chick he was with when he was ready.

"Hey Cas? We get off early tonight, wanna go do something?" Dean asked, smiling proudly at the shelves he had installed in their kitchen. Cas had surprised Dean with what he said was a bonus he got from Zach, and they sprung for the cupboards and a new futon for Dean sleep on.

He turned to face the man perched on the old couch behind him, staring intently at the instructions for the makeshift bed. A chuckle escaped his lips as he looked at Cas, the man's head cocked to the side as he read.

"Cas?"

Cas looked up, annoyed. "What?" he mumbled, head ducking back down into the manual.

"Let's do something fun tonight,” Dean urged him. ”Hit the town, get drunk, go to a strip club or _something_." Cas sighed. "You go, Dean. I need to figure out how to put this damned thing together. You go, have fun."

Dean frowned. "Come on Cas! Live a little. Please come with me?"

"Next time! I promise." Cas grinned before grabbing a screw from the bag. "Is this the right one?" he wondered, muttering to himself.

Dean got up, laughing at the way Cas operated, and left.

Cas was worried Dean would ask Zach about the 'raise' he’d gotten. In actuality, he'd been saving all his tips from the club in order to get something for Dean. They’d had a great time at the furniture store, acting like children as they shopped - hiding in the pillows and trying out the beds. Cas couldn’t remember the last time he'd laughed so hard. He resumed his task, looking up at the clock every so often. By the time he’d finished putting everything together he was already ten minutes late for work. Cas slipped a fleece hoodie over his head and grabbed his bag, before heading out to the club.

Dean sat at the bar with his third beer sitting in front of him and his head fuzzy as hell. He hardly noticed as a blonde in a skimpy black dress slid into the seat next to him.

“Hey there,” she cooed, brushing her fingers gently across Dean’s upper arm. He turned to her and grinned halfheartedly as she moved closer. “What’s your name?” she whispered, tracing the tip of her tongue along the shell of his ear.

“Dean,” he replied, edging away a little to take another swig of his beer.

“Mmm, Dean. I like the sound of that.”

Her hand began trailing increasingly lower, and Dean shifted in discomfort. This felt wrong in every way. Her hands were too soft, her hair too blonde, and _fuck_ , he really was getting tipsy. Dean was jolted back to reality as the girl pulled his face towards hers, twisting a hand into his hair. He kissed back at first on pure instinct. _Maybe I can forget Cas for a minute_ he thought to himself, trying to get more into the kiss. But every touch sank into his stomach, causing him to feel ill. The only thing he could think about was _Castiel_. Dean pulled away, trying not to seem as disinterested as he really was. "Listen… now’s not a good time."

"We can find somewhere a little less... crowded?" Blondie offered, moving closer again.

Dean shook his head. "No, thanks." He stood up. The girl looked him up and down angrily before stomping off. Dean shrugged and grabbed his jacket before heading out of the bar.

He’d been planning on heading back to the apartment, but the neon sign outside the building next to the bar caught Dean's eye. _Gods and Monsters_ it read, in loopy, fluorescent, cursive letters. He shrugged again and decided to check it out.

The stairs that led down into the basement club were carpeted red, and the music was just loud enough to be uncomfortable - but not to warrant earplugs. Dean opened the glass door and was greeted by a smug face.

"Welcome to Gods and Monsters, any special service you'd like to order tonight?" The man chimed, winking at the notion of ’service’. Dean waved him off.

"Maybe another time, pal.” He strode into the club, smiling at the familiar scent of booze, sex, and sweat. He took a seat near the back, with a good view of the runway-shaped stage in the center of the club. Currently, a young girl with sharp features and striking red hair was grinding against the pole near the end of the runway, her hips gyrating in time with the beat and her hands running across her body. She slinked down the steps and into the crowd, snatching up a bill from an eager customer and guiding him towards one of the private rooms in the back.

There were girls in the crowd as well as guys, in groups and by themselves. Dean nodded appreciatively - thinking _Whatever floats your boat._ He scooted a little closer to the action, taking the seat of the man who had just been led into a back room.

Suddenly, the lights dimmed, and the girls in the audience started giggling amongst themselves. A figure emerged onto the stage, wearing a white t-shirt partially tucked into a pair of tight jeans, and no shoes to speak of. Their head was bent to the side, hair in their - no, _his_ \- face, before the music hit. He snapped his head back, dark hair flying out of his face and - _oh_.

_Cas._

As the beat pounded in Dean's ears, Cas walked down towards the pole, his hands gracefully wrapping around it before he swung his hips around it in time with the first words of the song.

_Take a breath... take it deep. Calm yourself... he says to me._

Russian Roulette played on in the background, its haunting melody accenting the movements of Cas’s body perfectly. His right leg looped elegantly around the pole, catching it in the crook of his inner knee. He lifted himself up off the ground and spun himself on the pole in one swift movement. His eyes were shut tight - that he was concentrating hard on his every move was apparent, but not obvious. His movements were smooth and natural, never forced. He leaned back, letting go of the pole with his hands as he spun, before lowering himself slowly back to the ground. He dropped to the floor, thrusting his pelvis down towards the ground, looking up and straight ahead with fire in his eyes.

Dean couldn't keep his eyes off of the man as he stretched his arms back, pulling his shirt off slowly and tossing it aside, keeping perfect time with the song. The tattoos inked across his back shone under the club lights; the wing across his left shoulder blade and upper arm curving with every move of his body, the feathers stretching down to his lower back; the stub of a wing standing out in contrast on the other side, stray feathers inked in as if they were falling off. His toned muscles gleamed with sweat as Cas moved seductively around the pole, his hands running up his chest and down his thighs before his fingers caught on the button of the jeans, pulling it open and undoing the fly to reveal the fronts of his tight black briefs which outlined him clearly. He resumed his provocative dance, taunting the crowd.

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this turned on. He saw some of the women reaching into their purses for cash, and he felt stirrings of jealousy rising in his stomach. Before he fully realized what he was doing, his hand had slipped into his pocket and pulled out a twenty. He raised his hand above him nervously, cheeks burning. Cas looked up, and when he saw Dean he stumbled in his routine, but only for a second. He looked back, professionalism returning to his expression, and nodded to the strong looking bounced sitting by the entrance to one of the rooms in the back. Cas sauntered up to Dean, taking the bill and sliding it into the waistband of the briefs, before sliding down and straddling him, leaning in towards his ear.

"I'm only allowed to take you in the back if you give me at least a fifty. So if you want to talk privately, you’d better hurry up,” Cas growled into his ear, cautiously placing his hands on Dean's shoulders to hold him in place as he swiveled his hips just inches above Dean'. Dean nodded; quickly slipping the rest of the cash he had on him into Cas's hand, before standing up, moving quickly to hide the tent in the front of his jeans.

When they got to the back, the man Dean had seen earlier stood there resolutely with his arms crossed over his chest. Cas just motioned to him silently before slipping past, pulling Dean into a private dance room. Once they were inside, Cas dropped his arms and spun around to face him.

“Dean, what the hell are you do-”

Dean cut him off, pressing his lips to Cas’s chastely before pulling away. Although it was only brief, Cas’s breath hitched, his eyes going wide.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Dean said, his voice low and filled with lust. Instead of answering, Cas stepped forward, quickly closing the space between them. He could taste the alcohol on Dean’s lips as they surrounded his own, his entire body becoming hyper aware of each sensation. Dean’s tongue found its way into his mouth, and his hips ground against Cas’s, eliciting a throaty moan from him. Dean shifted slightly, and Cas grabbed at his shirt, afraid that he was going to pull away again.

Dean’s thoughts flooded his mind. He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted this more than anything - and that scared him. He swallowed his fear and focused on the sensation of Cas’s hands cupped around his cheeks, pulling him closer and angling his face so he could deepen the kiss. Dean moaned into Cas’s mouth, weaving his fingers into his hair. Cas pushed Dean backwards, into the chair in the middle of the room. Dean moved his hungry lips to Cas’s jaw, kissing along his neck before settling on his pulse point. He bit down slightly, and sucked at the tender skin. Cas’s fingers grasped for the bottom of Dean’s shirt, desperately trying to reveal his muscular chest. Dean pulled back, much to the man’s disappointment, but only briefly to strip his shirt from his torso. Cas immediately pressed his chest to Dean’s, and ran his tongue along his teeth and gums, reveling in the taste. He was engulfed in the essence of Dean surrounding him. He ground his hips against Dean’s again, making Dean buck up, aching for more friction.

“Cas, want you, now…” Dean murmured, rubbing their clothed erections together in an unearthly rhythm. Cas moaned at hearing his name, and decided to forsake all the rules of the club. He sank onto the floor and began trailing kisses along Dean’s abdomen, slowly going towards his waist. He pulled down the zipper of Dean’s jeans in one swift movement, and motioned for Dean to lift his hips so that he could remove the obstacle. Dean hissed at the cool air surrounding him, but it was forgotten as Cas’s lips ghosted over his inner thighs. He licked and nibbled at the soft skin, slowly moving higher. Dean reached down, fingers reaching for his length, but Cas slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch yourself unless I say so,” he commanded, looking up, his pupils blown wide with desire. Dean stopped instantly, and looked down at Cas through lidded eyes, watching as he slowly inched forward, tongue darting across his lips before he wrapped them around the head of Dean’s cock, causing him to arch his back off the chair. Cas swirled his tongue around him, and bobbed his head slowly, his mouth hot and wet, small noises escaping Dean’s throat. He kneaded his fingers into Cas’s dark hair, and then suddenly Cas was taking him all in, the muscles of this throat squeezing around him.

Needy moans filled the air as he continued. “Cas, fuck…” Dean cried out, too wrapped up in the ecstasy of the moment to hear Cas slipping out of his pants. Cas pulled away, getting up to straddle Dean again, but Dean was far ahead of him - he pushed Cas down roughly onto the floor, the stubble on his face brushing against Cas’s deliciously as he searched for his mouth. Cas closed his eyes, suppressing his voice as Dean pressed his own erection against his, skin on skin, further igniting the fire building in his stomach. Cas couldn’t hear the music pouring through the club as Dean reached down, his hand catching both of them, and stroked them together. Every part of Cas’s body burned with desire as Dean continued stroking, their moans speeding up with every grind of their hips.

“Dean…” Cas started, but he couldn’t remember what he’d been going to say once he felt Dean shift so his teeth could scrape against his jaw and up to his ear.

“Cum for me, Cas..” he whispered roughly into his ear, pushing Cas suddenly over the edge. He cried out Dean’s name as he came all over their stomachs, Dean quickly following suit. Dean collapsed on top of him, nuzzling his face into the crook of Cas’s neck.

“Holy fuck,” Cas whispered, grinning slyly. After a few moments, Dean and Cas began to picked themselves up, looking at the mess they’d created.


End file.
